"SIKANDER NE PORAS SE" BY MAHENDRA KAPOOR

March 18, 2014 at 7:46am

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"SIKANDERNE PORAS SE"

BYMAHENDRA KAPOOR

http://youtu.be/b0xBa8kr7TI

Until NCERT syllabus was introduced in J&K State, Social studies in tenth class had three books; one on the Indian History, the other on the English History and the third one on Geography.

The Indian History was getting confused by the same names of different kings like Chander Gupta Maurya, Chander Gupta I, Chander Gupta II;Sikander with his English name Alexander. One would often get confused with one for the other and wonder whether it was due to scarcity of names in that period or only to confuse the student community.

Invariably there used to be one question in the University examination (those days there was no Board) on Sikander. Sequence of questions on Sikander kay humlay; Sikander kay humlay kay faidhay; Sikander kay humlay kay nuqsanat would interchange alternately. (Invasion of Sikander; Gains of the invasion done by Sikander; losses due to the invasion done by Sikander). One student had mugged up the total chapter on Sikander.  When back home, his parents were shocked to know that he had dropped the question on Alexander, little knowing that Alexander was the English name of Sikander.

Same confusion was about the names of the English Kings.They were named as:

 William: I, II…..;Henry: I,II,III,IV,V,VI….George: I,II,III,   ….V,VI…; Richard: I,II,III….;Edward I,II…..VIII; Elizabeth I,II; William I was also named as the Bastard Conqueror….

Most of us know only the devastating material and human losses done by the 1990 turmoil in the valley initiated by Farooq Abdullah with acquiescence by the Rajiv Gandhi Government at the Centre.

Like that of the gains of the invasions of Sikander, 1990 turmoil too had a few gains. One of the gains of the turmoil is that all masks vanished and real faces came out. Let me not elaborate it as all know the reality. Close relations distanced themselves to escape and share responsibility. Those who hovered about the one who was milked until 1990 did not become only  strangers for him all at once, but even called him names and hurled even abusive adjectives besides  accused him of all bad that he had never committed.  I wonder how he survived and became unlike Gaius Julius Caesar who succumbed when he saw   Brutus his friend among the plotters. Better late than never, exposed faces, let the victim know the reality before it would be too late for him to establish again.

Islam too got benefitted.

1988, during the month of Ramadan, I called on Mohammad Ashraf in his office. I believe it was first day of the auspicious month.Ashraf ordered for a cup of tea. I refused in view of the day of fast. He lighted a cigarette and brushed aside my suggestion and boasted to be a ‘liberal’ Muslim.  Post 1990, I called on him again and coincidently it was again the auspicious month of Ramadan.  He was altogether a changed person. He was on fast and offers  Nimaz regularly.  From socalled liberal, he became a pious Muslim. April 1990 Khurshid called on his friend Bansi Lal Kaw at Bagwati Nagar, Jammu to express his sympathy for his devastation. While changing his dress, coat, pantaloon and tie, Khurshid hurled all abuses and curses on Mujahids responsible for the mayhem.  I said: “Khurshid Sahib, you are committing a great sin. While Jihadist are engaged with Jihad at the cost of their lives, you have come all the way from Srinagar to Jammu to abuse and curse them.”

“They are not Jihadist, they are looters, murderers and rapists” said Khurshid.

I said: “Who are Jihadist?”

He said: “Jihadist are those who will fight against ‘Kefirs ’and  punish Kafiirrs”

I said: “What is the punishment for Kafir?”

He said: “Kaffir ‘ka sur kulum kerna hai’   (Kafir is to be beheaded)

I said: “Then what are you looking for? I am a Kafir in front of you. Why do you spare me?”

He said:” You are not a kafir. You believe in Bagwan and you go to temple according to your faith.”

I said: “You are wrong. I have respect for Koran and Prophet Mohammad. But I don’t believe that He is the last Prophet. I believe Allah,God, Khuda , Bagwan are different names of the Creator. You as a Muslim have to offer five times Nimaz, and keep fast during the month of Ramadan……”

He said: “I reside very close to Dergah, Hazratbal and stillI don’t offer Nimaz. Am I not a Muslim? Am I a Kafir?”

I said: “Better to ask some Mufti.”

14^th March, 2014 while on morning walk, here at Dubai,I spotted a man with Kashmiri features. I asked him if he was a Kashmiri. He said: “Yes, I am Khurshid.”

I said: “I believe you are friend of my friend Bansi Lal Kaw.”

He said: “Yes, he is my bosom friend.”

In the meantime we were joined by Dr. M Ahmad. I said: “Why did you not join Biscoe alumni on 7^th March, 2014. He said: “I had no information.” I said that Dr. M Ahmad knew about it and if he did not inform him".

Khurshidsaid that he and Dr. M Ahmad meet five times a day in the local mosque while offering Nimaz, but he did not inform him.

Khurshid has grown a trimmed beard and regularly goes to local mosque to offer five times Nimaz. He is now a pious Muslim, valuable gift of militancy.

‘Zethiev Nariev kheiv Saal’ (Long sleeves enjoy the feast)

‘Zethiev Nariev kheiv Saal’ is an age old quotation. It is said that once a grand feast was arranged in honour of Sheikh Noor ul Din Noorani, a great Sufi saint of his time. Kashmiri Pundits remember him as Nundea Reiush.

The Chief Guest was abnormally late. Eyes of the other guests were fixed at the entrance looking impatiently for the arrival of the Chief. Before patience would give way, all impatient guests were thrilled to see the Chief Guest dressed in a brand new ‘pheran’ with long sleeves. After a long wait the guests heaved a sigh of relief.
Soon, ‘dastarkhwan’(dining table) was laid. All the guests each in a group of four were given handwash. Each group of four was served with rice plate named ‘trumie’ and delicious dishes on it. Bismillah was pronounced and all except the Chief started. The Chief started in a different style. He dipped the long sleeves of his ‘pheran’ into the ‘trumie’and said ‘Zethiev Nariev kheiv Saal’.  (You the long sleeves enjoy the feast)All including the  host were surprised. Whispers went around. None other than the saint could explain the reason.
The saint said: “My dinner time is late by two hours. So it is too late for me.”
The host:“Sir, you arrived late. We knew your dinner time and we had prepared all the dishes well in time.”

The saint:“I did not arrive late. I was in time. You did not let me in, for I was not dressed in new clothes. I had to go back and get a brand new ‘pheran’ tailored. It took me two hours and in new pheran, you did not only let me in but even welcomed me with honour. All this exercise is for my pheran and not for me. I let the sleeves of my pheran to enjoy the feast.
Early nineties, immediately after my forced exodus, I had to manage with a pair of dresses that I had with me from the valley. Every day after my return from the work, the dress was washed and ironed to be usable the next day. Two dresses were reserved for dinner or lunch during the marriage season. One season, I attended invitations on three consecutive days. I did not get chance to reshape the dresses after use. My absence on one of the marriages in the season was my compulsion.
Mrs. Raina,wife of my friend said: “Dass Sahab, why did you not attend such and such marriage. Your friends missed you.

Maqber Nunde Reuesh

I said:“  ‘Khander asie ziadhea te Salea verdhie asea sarie mulea gumchea. Moqie ave ne salea verdhie tuyar kurnus’ (Number of marriages was more; all the invitation uniforms were soiled. I did not get time to maintain balance between the used and the usable).
Pundit BadriNath Thussu (Hereafter Sabuea) and Pundit Damoodhar Koul Bazaz named as Dhamea Koul, my neighbour (Hereafter Bob ji) were friends. Bobuji was working as head clerk in the office of the Customs and Excise. Both used to be smartly dressed.One day at lunch hour, they were on way to their respective homes. It would take them at least one hour to reach Zaindar Mohalla from Zaina Kadal. En route at Zaina Kadal they spotted a marquee set up for a reception or asocial function. Fragrance of dishes and hunger changed their path. Both proceeded towards marquee. The host took the two smartly dressed for some VIP and welcomed them accordingly. Both were led to the spot reserved for distinguished guests and were served with due care and special attention.

Maqber Nunde Reuesh

After the lunch was over, Bobuji called the host and said:”Do you or anyone of you know us?
The host: “ ‘aheanmahra, kiya mahra chiv tohie venan, shermundea chivea kuran’ ( Yes; What do you say; you are embarrassing us)”
Bobuji:” Kiyazi chivea apuz venan. Asie  asi yuperie pukan, rogunjosh; kulie teyekhnie hondh sogandhi chi akis milus tanie yevan. Bochieti aes lujmuech te rogunjoshunti duet ne broent puknea. (Why do you lie? We were on way to our home.Fragrance of rogunjosh, kalie and yekhnie is felt up to a radius of one mile.Both hunger and fragrance of the dishes did not let us go any further. We express our gratitude to you.
The host:” Ye mahra osvea tohie punuen pralabdh te souen gav behanea (It was your destiny and we became the conduit.”

Makeshift confectionary in the courtyard of Ziarat Sharief

Makeshift confectionery in the courtyard of Ziarat Sharief

Hindu Shrines And Religious Places Bill

Through the most reliable source I learnt that a Judicial Magistrate from Jammu posted at Anantnagh refused to register five kanals of Dharmarth Trust land in the name of a local despite a heavy pressure from his seniors and authorities. When his seniors asked him why   he puts hurdles in the normal sale deed for registration  on the basis of the  attorney given by Captain Diwan , the last ADC to the last Maharaja of Jammu & Kashmir in the name of a local for its sale, the Magistrate reported that he doubted genuineness of  the signatures of Captain Diwan.

The magistrate summoned the Captain who authenticated his signatures as valid. The Captain said that he was authorized to sell the land in the name of the Dharmarth Trust. The Magistrate asked the Captain if any resolution was passed by the Trust to authorize him to sell the land in the name of the Trust. The Captain at 87 failed to convince the court. The Magistrate completed the case and closed the file and confined it to records.

The Magistrate was transferred to Jammu and may be the authorities in power may have managed registration of the said land through the new incumbent.

The Land Mafia will never let the Hindu Shrines and Religious Places Bill be passed. Pahalgm and Gulmarg temples are managed by Muslim pujaris despite being beef eaters. Same is true about Durga nagh Madir in Srinagar. It is managed by Muslims.

Dr.Karan Singh the sole tustee of the Dharmarth Trust is said to be against the requisite Bill.

Passage to Drabiyar Mandir under debris

Drabiyar Mandir in debris

Drabiyar Mandir entrance in debris

Drabiyar ghat under rubble

Passage to Rughnath Mandir Srinagar. Entrance over the debris of the compound wall

Ghat next to Purshyar Ghat.

‘M’ for Mischievous

Bahach is a big boat. Four-fifth of the boat is covered
with a thatched or shingle roof. Its front and a little of the rare portion are open. Bahach serves partly as the floating house to its inmates and partly to carry goods from one place to the other.
The wife of the boatman sits at the rare portion holding the oar to rudder the floating Bahach. The boatman on the open front pushes the Bahach forward with hamtul, a long smooth pole of three to four inch diameter.

Once a Bahach in the midst of Wular Lake was caught in a wind storm. The lady at the rare started beating her breast, crying and praying to Babh Shakur Din, a shrine on the hillock overlooking the lake: “Babh Shakur Deena bachav(Babh Shakur Deen save us). Her infuriated husband thrashed his wife: “This is His wind storm, is he not seeing it?(Yehi che amisenzei cheth. Ye chuna nete vechaan. Yemisenz cheth temisei chekh che venan becahv. Keri dheli chope). You are asking the planter of the wind to save us”.
A widow in Ashmuj, a militant infested village in Kulgam Tehsil was teaching English alphabet to her orphan grand son. Both her husband and her son had died while fighting for their cause.
Thus the grand mother, swinging her body to and fro started: “A for Abdullah; B for Bakshi; C for Congress; D forDandh /Donkey; E for elephant; F for Farooq; G for Goat/Geelani …..M for Mischievous; N for National Conference…….the young scholar was surprised and instead of repeating M for Mischievous, he said M for Mufti. The granny insisted M for Mischievous. The boy said: “If A for Abdhullah and B for Bakshi stand for names why M should stand for an adjective. The grand mother said: “Both mean the same. Let you read M for Mischievous Mufti”. A little later, the boy asked his grand mother: “How do both mean the same?”
Thus explains the Granny:

“People have little memory. In January 1990 the double M was the Home Minister of India. He brought out the Indian Army from their barracks to the civil areas in Kashmir. He brought CRP Force and BSF to the valley. He caused massacre of people at Maisuma Bazar and many other places. During his Home Ministry many of the mourners participating in the funeral procession of Moulavi Farooq were shot dead. He manipulated kidnapping of his daughter Dr.Rubaya Syed. He promulgated the Armed Forces Special Powers Act (AFSPA) in Jammu & Kashmir. Most of the times he was sent as an MLA to the Assembly by courtesy Khaliq DC as an uncontested member.
Today the author of all the atrocities is talking of healing touch to the wounds caused by him. He is asking for the withdrawal of the armed forces which were installed by him. Today he talks for the withdrawal of the Armed Forces Special Powers Act enacted by him in 1990. He used to rig the elections and today he claims to be the champion of fair elections of 2002. I wonder how he is spared by those who suffered injuries of different intensities because of him. It is nothing short of Double M’s cheth (Wind storm). Let people forget the historical facts, but I remember my deep wounds are because of the double M”.

While teaching, the Granny resumed the  swing to her body and said: “Go ahead and read G for Geelani; G for Goat; M for Mischievous Mufti….M for Manipulator”. The son said: “Why Geelani is associated with Goat?” “This is one of the teaching methods” said the Granny. One event is remembered by associating it to the other. He draws pension as an ex-MLA. He could not get enough strength in the Assembly to be the Chief Minister of the State. And he knows that he will never get absolute majority to be the State Head. For face saving he boycotts elections. Out of vengeance he has taken a vow to rule all the grave yards in the State. He gets lot of pleasure and satisfaction in ruling the dead and is contented that if not live he could be the emperor of the dead. A Persian quotation is ‘In case of no worry keep a goat to purchase worries’. Thus G for goat and to remember it associates it with G for Geelani. Both cause worries.

Matrimonial Interview

1968, I was in the Statistical Department for two years without any job satisfaction. Though 29, I was refusing all proposals. Career, poverty and commitment were my impediments. It was a matter of concern for my father,sincere friends and relations. Dr. Trakroo, one amongst them was more a friend and less a brother-in-law to me. It was after his recent wedlock that we had entered into a selfless friendship.

Impressed by my brown colour Swede imported-like jacket and 24x7 hour necktie, he proposed his cousin and persuaded me for anod. After my nod, I was told that it was almost done but approval from the eldest uncle of both Dr. Trakroo and his cousin was a formality to give him respect.

A date for the meeting was fixed. Harbans Lal Bakhshi was assigned the duty to arrange my meeting with the respected uncle.On the scheduled date and time, I had to rush to one of my uncles’ (pofue)whose message of expiry was sudden and his funeral had a preference.

To my father my fixed meeting was more important and was almost pushed out to keep the appointment. Returned to my place for change, white Terrycot suit with white necktie was hurriedly put on to impress the eldest uncle. A few pedals to my Raleigh bicycle and we reached Akhada building. The uncle along with his widow sister, Mathematics lecturer son B Lal and daughter-in-law among others was residing in the Akhadaha premises.

Both the windows of the room opened towards the road facing Barav Mandir on the bank of the river Jhelum. The room was scarcely furnished with a dual backless bench and a small table to accommodate teapot and its other accessories. Scarcity of furniture was a compulsion due to paucity of space. The small room had to apportion some space for kitchen. The partition half wall of the attached kitchen served dual purpose. The privileged one on the bench could rest his back against the dual partitioned wall. It was a vivid marvel of architecture.

Both Harbans Lal and I were offered the dual bench to sit on with the small table for teapot to rest on. Someone in the family let the farther end of a ‘ lungie’ (coloured cotton cloth strip 1.25metre long and 10 cm wide that Kashmiri married ladies used to tie over pheran around waist) to go down with instructions to the baker nearby. The backer tied a few ‘katlamas’ and the longie went up back to the pavilion. What an innovative method to save time-energy and man-hours! Kettle with broken nose rested on the table and the interview started over a cup of tea with hot bakery. Partly damaged nose spilled tea into the plate. Over conscious of my white suit, I skilfully saved my dress.
“What is your academic qualification?” asked the Reverend and the knowledgeable Uncle.
“Mahra, I have done MA in Mathematics and B Ed”, said I.
Uncle: “Which year did you pass MA in Mathematics?”

I: “Mahra 1965”.
Uncle: “When did you join the University?”

I: “Mahra 1963.”

Uncle: “That implies that you failed once.”

I: “No sir, how?”
Uncle: “You joined the University in 1963 and by the end of 1964 you ought tocomplete post graduation.

I: “Mahra it is two-year course.”
Uncle: “What then? One year 1963 and the second year 1964.”

I: “Mahra, I joined the University in August 1963 and completed first year in August 1964 and the second year in August 1965.”
Uncle: “For your information, I may tell you that my son Bushan Lal (Namechanged) is lecturer in Mathematics.”
I: “Mahra, May be.”
Uncle: “Not may be. He is.”

I: “Mahra, what have I to do with this piece of information?” 

Uncle: “Why don’t you agree that you have failed once?”

The daughter-in-law intervened second time:“Mahra, why don’t you understand simple; 1963-64 First year and 1964-65 SecondYear.

Uncle: “All right. Tell me if my son could become professor why could you not?”

I: “Mahra, simple. Besides some resourceful recommendation, demand and supply is operational. For many posts a few were available and now for the few posts many are available.”
By this time the empty kettle signaled us that the session was over. I heaved a sigh of relief and thanked god that without any altercation despite repeated provocation I remained cool. 

Next day the Widow Sister of the uncle  sent an advice to me that I should restrain to fall drunk in drains.
Despite being a teetotaler I said that I could not help my habit. At a later stage I came to know that the uncle was somehow indifferent to the success of his nephew and was expected not to let him score a plus point on the account.Obviously ‘Pitrath’ at its peak was visible though covered with polished words.Pitrath had one positive side effect; that was tough competition. The Professor mocked at Dr. Trakroo for his admission to the Department of Sociology at Punjab University Chandigarh as a choice for a feminine subject. Dr. Trakroo broke all the previous records and got first class first. Gold medalist Dr.Trakroo became in record period Dr. Trakroo and retired recently as HOD at National level. It was a big surprise to me when he declined to continue as a senior consultant on deputation to SKIMS beyond two years contract. Despitepersonal request by Dr. Ali Jan, he preferred work culture at his parentalorganization at National level at Delhi. His cousin retired as PrincipalDegree College Sopore. Both did well in their fields but mock of the latter wasproved wrong. I conclude to say that it is not the subject that matters butone’s excellence. (Amir Khan’s hit Three idiots holds good my conclusion). 

Unplanned Garden in the planned city”

1976, during winter vacations, I along with my elder brother Girdhari Lal, my wife and my two infants happened to be at Chandigarh. For sightseeing, we visited Rose Garden and the Sukhna Lake. Without any fanfare around, we chanced to step into the world famous Rock Garden beside the manmade Sukhna Lake and in front of the respective Secretariats of Punjab and Haryana and the common High Court premises. Little known to the local authorities, I believe we were god sent VIP dignitaries to oblige Nek Chand, the builder of the Rock Garden for opening ceremony of the Rock Garden.

Seeing both of us well dressed in coat and pantaloons with an Adox camera slinging by the shoulder,  Nek Chand in tattered tweed coat with patch work done on its elbows got delighted to see we two the most respected citizens to honour him with our presence to perform the opening ceremony of the Garden. Nek Chand clung on to us for the entire round until we obliged him with our stay in the garden. He was extremely delighted to pose for a photograph with us.

Those days’ cameras were not as common a thing as they are today. Until 16^th January 1990, the day of my exodus, the black & white photograph along with other photographs in their passport size was in the photo frame tucked to the wall of my common room.

Nek Chand kept us abreast of the developments from the day first he stealthily planned to develop the garden to the day he declared it open for the public free of any ticket.

As narrated:

Nek Chand was a work supervisor, the lowest paid and the lowest rank in the field staff of the Public Works Department of the Chandigarh Union territory. Chandigarh a planned city was in making. His honest character kept him away from the main stream. He had become a laughing stock among his colleagues. To get rid of him, he was posted as in charge of dead stock. Soon stock of empty tar- coal drums, broken washbasins, fused tube lights, broken kettle in pieces, hydrated hardened cement bags and all useless things piled up in his stock. He arranged the empty drums one over the other to fortify the area. He used to attend village fairs, a common feature in Punjab. There at the village fair, he used to engage young children on payment of four annas for collection of broken pieces of bangles, circular grass woven mats and hay woven slippers and the like. He placed the stony cement bags in a posture to look like human beings. Pieces of bangles were studded on to look like hair and skirt or dresses of different pattern.

Nek Chand approached the then Chief Engineer to approach the Chief Commissioner to sermonize the opening ceremony of the Rock Garden. Those days the administrative head of the Union Territory was designated as the Chief Commissioner of the Union Territory. The Chief Engineer did not take the matter seriously and mocked the issue. Despite his assurance neither of the two arrived to open the Rock Garden that was ultimately opened by me and brother by default.

Nek Chand felt highly obliged and grateful to both of us.

Next day headline on the local News paper quote : “Unplanned Rock Garden in the planned city under the nose of the High Court and the two Secretariats.

Bríjû dàss te Girdass chhú vanàn låsív tû båsív.

‘Habea Sabenie

Dubea –Dubh’

Charcters:

            Habibullah Khan the messenger

            Lala Kasturi Lal –trader from Amritsar

            Pundit Kashi Nath-local silk trader

            Dedh-Yemberzal, mother of Kashi Nath

                       &

            Brij Nath Mam the Telegraph Master

Habibullah Khan from Babapora was an expert in the art of gold-work embroidery. It is an art of embroidery using metal threads. The term "goldwork" is used even when the threads are imitation gold or silver. The metal wires used to make the threads have never been entirely gold; they have always been gold-coated silver (silver-gilt) and even then the "gold" often contains a very low percent of real gold.

In Kashmiri language the thread is called ‘tilea’ and the artisan is known as ‘tilea dooez’.  Initially the ‘tilea’ embroidery was done only on the ‘pheran’ collar and sleeves of the Muslim ladies. Later on the work had demand from all the communities as it extended its field to pusmina shawls as well.

Habibullah Khan was extremely a gentle, handsome tall and soft spoken person. In his late forties he managed his entry into the Telegraph Department though a primary school dropout as a messenger. Now his embroidery work became part time job for him.

One day early in the morning in the interior of the Banmohalla lane Habibullah knocked at the door of kashi Nath to deliver a telegram in his name. The door was opened by Dedh-Yemberzal who came out of the lavatory in the courtyard.

Dedh: “Chea kues bha chukh (Who are you?). ‘Chey kiya gachee subhai subhaie’ and what do you want so early in the morning?

Habibullah: “Ye hebi che telegram Kashi Nath nie navea te yehie chum dinie” (This is telegram in the name of Kashi Nath and I have come to deliver it)

Dedh: “Hutbha yeatch kiya juldee asie chea aakh koker bangie. Su ha bha chuie venie shongithie. Sue kues anie seath kulea te tulie punditus nendrie. Ye ha bha gav sehea gonchie nueth kurnus beraber” (What was the necessity of coming so early that you came at the cock’s crow? He is still in deep sleep. Who will get seven heads to awaken him? It is tantamount to kissing the whiskers of a ferocious lion.)

Habibullah: “Chea kiya watie Kashi Nath. (What is your relation with Kashi Nath?)

Dedh: “Kiya bha goie. Sue haba chue mai nechuv; chey chie na yeti khaber. Trahi trahie (What happened to you? He is my son. Don’t you know even this much? Oh god! How ignorant are people!)

Habibullah: “Adhbhi teli reth chie ye telegram te yeli vethi  te ye dizzies” (All right then let you receive this telegram and pass it on to him when he gets up)

Dedh: “Hutbha bea draius tuchie munze. Mai heba chie athea chetie. Chea trav vunie ye kakudh mianis pheran chundus munz (I came out of the lavatory. My hands are impure. Let you drop this paper into my pheran pocket.

Habibullah dropped the telegram into the pocket of Dedh against acknowledgment and left.

After a period of four months Kashi Nath received a detailed letter from Lala Kasturi Lal. It read: “It is strange that you did not act on my instructions given to you telegraphically. You have caused a loss of more than one lac to yourself and an enormous loss to me by ignoring my instructions. I had asked to bid for all the silk yarn on auction by the Government Silk Factory @ any price up to Rs.60 per lb. If you could manage at a lesser price, the difference would be yours. Besides, you would get commission from me for my price at sixty. I will send you the money for the purchase. You shall not have to invest from your pocket. The silk yarn was sold by the factory @Rs. 40 an Lb.”

Kashi Nath started his jeep and straight way went to Brij Nath Mam the Telegraph Master with the complaint and threatened him with a sue for damages.

Brij Nath Mam perused his four-month old record and detected that the telegram was delivered by Habibullah against acknowledgement. He called Habibullah and asked him to recall if he virtually delivered the telegram.

Habibullah was confident about his sincerity to his work. He was sure that he must have delivered the telegram. He asked Kashi Nath about the topography of his house. Kashi Nath was fuming with rage. One could feel the degree of his rage from the vibration of his nostrils. While Habibullah was calmly concentrating on the four-month old incident and recalling the sequence, Kashi Nath banged the table of the Telegraph Master and repeated his threatening.

In the meantime Habibullah recalled the event and with confidence assured the Telegraph Master that he delivered the telegram to one of the family members of Kashi Nath.

Brij Nath Mam to Habibullah: “Are you sure that you delivered the telegram? Can you identify the person in the family to whom you delivered the telegram?”

Habibullah: “Ahuen Mahra. (Yes sir. I am sure that I delivered the telegram and I can identify the person to whom I delivered the telegram)

“All right, come along and board the jeep” said Brij Nath Mam.

Half an hour drive and the jeep came to a screeching halt on the roadside. All the three marched down the serpentine dingy lane of Chinkral Mohalla on the border line of Banea Mohalla and finally reached the destination.

The Telegraph Master was nervous but confident about the sincere work of his subordinate. Kashi Nath was still fuming. Habibullah was confident about his work.

Before the identification parade would ensue, Habibullah raised his finger towards Dedh.

Dedh: “Hutba mianee kueth rotnuekh-beie oie na kanh athie (Oh why do you entangle me. Could you not accuse any body else)”

Dedh blatantly refused the allegation. Kashi Nath supported Dedh. B N Mam was tense and quiet.

Habibullah, being an embroider; he was sharp in remembering the colour of ‘pheran’ of his customers. He pleaded that on the day of occurrence Dedh was in brown pheran.

Dedh: “Rotnuekh high mianie. Mai chunea kunhie brown pheran” (You are accusing me without any reason. I don’t have any brown pheran.”

Kashi Nath seconded his mother Dedh.

Habibullah looked around and identified the pheran hanging by a hanger on the wall. He said: “Let you bring down that pheran and check out its pocket”

The pheran was brought down and an innocent baby in the family was called to look for any paper in the pocket.

Brij Nath Mam heaved a sigh of relief and patted Habibullah Khan for his efficiency, sincerity and hard work.

Dedh said:”Khaber kiya jodugaree kuruen- panun paan moklovuen te bhea fasave nus”( Know not what magic did he play –got himself exonerated and me entangled. 

Know Not Why

March 10, 2014 at 12:39pm

1947, they hounded them out

Know not why

1990 they welcomed them in

Know not why

1990 they hounded us out

Know not why

DAL LAKE

Now they call us back  

Know not why  

1965 they celebrated infiltration

Know not why   

Then they   sold them cheap

Know not why

1947 she acceded to her

Know not why  

1990 they opt for secession

Know not why

1990, they took to gun

Know not why

Now they left the gun

Know not why 

Some settled across

Know not why

Some took to trade

Know not why

Some opted to be alea-wanguen

Know not why

Some died for plebiscite

Know not why

Some buried Plebiscite

Know not why  

Bríjû dàss te Girdass chhú vanàn låsív tû båsív.

bkdass.blogspot.com

My Bicycle

I was six. The World War Second had come to an end. Father gave us a pleasant surprise. He arrived in along with a new bicycle. It was Hercules made in England. Each part of the vehicle was engraved with the word ‘Hercules. The bicycle was purchased from the wholesale merchant at Hari Singh High Street, second shop on the corner of the lane leading to Hanuman Mandir, for rupees forty-nine and eight annas. The saddle was attached with a toolbox, carrying a few wrenches, solution tube and a few rubber patches. The frame of the bicycle had arrangement to fix one small pump.

The scene was festive. An astrologer was consulted in advance to look for the auspicious day. The news of the new arrival reached neighbours, friends and relations. The evening was unlike all other ordinary evenings. People poured in to congratulate. Mother changed ath-athoer of the ‘dejhore’. She changed her sari too. The new ath-athoer and the sari had come from her mother.

The bicycle was garlanded. The whole family offered prayers at Kathleshwaer Mandir, the local temple and expressed gratitude to Lord Shanker. The next day ‘satidiv’ prashad was distributed amongst neighbours and relations. It worked as an announcement of the purchase. The week turned out as the week of celebration. The inmates were thrilled to entertain the guests. The local baker Maheshwar Nath was instructed to be in readiness. Being at number three, the first day, I did not get any chance to touch the bicycle. I had to be contented with a look from distance. I could not resist the feel of its touch any longer. All others, tired, went to bed. I waited until they took to snoring. Stealthily I availed the chance to satiate my longing for the touch.

People around used to borrow our bicycle. It gave us a momentary feel of being the privileged class. The facility could be availed by the restricted few on holidays only.

The Bicycle was the sole property of our father. No other family member had any right on it. I usually stealthily steal an opportunity for a joyride when my father would go for a nap.

To carry someone on the carrier and to cycle after dusk without light were legal offences. Besides, managing law and order, the police usually used to arrest the law offenders for carrying double seat or for cycling without light after dusk. The accused was charge sheeted in the court of law and fined to the extent of rupees two to three. At times the matter was compounded without any challan for one or two annas that would not go to the government treasury.

A token tax of one rupee and two annas was charged by the Municipal authorities. At times the authorities would come out on the road to boost the revenue collection. The brass token in exchange was screwed on the handle of the bike. The head of the collection team was our distant neighbour and so our bike had never attained the honour of the fixation of the token.

In 1954, I joined first-year of the four-year degree course at Amarsingh College, Srinagar. The Principal of the college, Sahibzada Mohmud Ahmad used to come to the college on a bicycle of green colour. His peon Mahmud would always be in readiness to takeover the bicycle. While dusting the bicycle, he would look around with an air of authority. Professor N.L.Darbari, Professor Rehman Rahi, Professor T.N.Kilam, Professor Aslam Khan and a few more professors did not have facility of the caretaker. We the students would often discuss the quality, the colour and condition of the bicycles of the privileged professors. Many others were either not such affluent or did not know cycling.

After a lot of pleas, to facilitate my education, I was handed the ownership of the bicycle that once rested with my father. The night that followed the auspicious day in my life, somehow became too lengthy for me. The whole night I did not get even a wink of sleep. Reveries flashed across my mind. At last the day dawned. The day was a long awaited one in my life. While cycling to college, my eyes were fixed on the row houses along the road instead on the road itself. Four rupees as parking charges per month was an allied worry to me. I somehow managed to dig out some relation with the keeper Vesh Nath at the parking booth and escaped the liability.

To be an owner of a cycle was not a smooth sail. A number of times I had to land in police lockup for carrying another person along with or cycling without light.

In 1960 I purchased a bicycle from Duran Cycle at Exchange Road, Srinagar, for rupees two hundred and ten one Raleigh Cycle made in India from Duran Cycle at Exchange Road Srinagar for rupees two hundred ten. This time it was Raleigh Cycle made in India. The owner of the shop, Durani Brij Nath was kind enough to provide me with installment facility. A monthly installment of ten rupees was fixed. My friend J.L.Pandita (retired DIG police) also went to Duran Cycle. He was refused the installment facility for want of a guarantor. On my guarantee, Pandita became my equal.

Maqbool the mechanic at the shop had an additional assignment of collection of the installments. He was feeling obliged for smooth installments of rupees ten each. Within eleven months the interest free finance was liquidated.

Both of us, the bicycle and me lived in a close harmony for a number of years. It stood by me in sun and shower. It accompanied me to Zainapore, Verinagh and many other places. It served me well during my post graduation from 1963-65. It saved me eight annas a day, the to and fro bus fare to the university. It added not to my personality only but swelled my pocket too. Now I could attend more tuition. For its smooth behavior it had endeared itself to me. I had developed a lot of love for it. Its service in period of adversity was immense. It charged me nothing. It was unlike today’s Maruti, which does not buzz an inch unless I fill its belly with costly gasoline. Had the Bike not been stolen, I would love to give it a feel of joy ride in the selfish Maruti.

Deceptive Faces

In my school time one of the questions frequently asked was on the topic ‘Alexander’s invasion’. Alternatively the question used to be on gains and losses on account of the invasion.

Modern Historians on Kashmir must have written enough on the historical event ‘the eruption of militancy and turmoil of 1990’. The gains and losses due to Alexander’s invasion may be replaced by the gains and losses due to the eruption of militancy and uncalled for bloodshed.

I personally suffered an enormous loss. The family three-storey residential house, double storey school building and cowshed were set ablaze in August 1990. I lost my livelihood too. Weighing the Gain & Loss due to the turmoil, despite enormous financial losses, the pan of gains weighed heavier.

Being 19th February 1939 born, I was fifty-one less by a fortnight in January 1990. I was under the delusion that I am master of fifty-one year’s rich experience of life. The vanity on account of the so called rich experience vanished overnight. All the sycophants around either vanished or changed their tongue.  It was a new experience worth weighing in gold.

Vijay Kumar was a daily-wage earner at the Srinagar Telephone Exchange. On his request, I used to give insurance business of the family houses, shop, buses and matadors, school buildings etcetera to him. Besides he used to do all electric fittings and fixtures of our family buildings under construction until January 1990.  It was a gesture to help the needy at the cost of personal gains in the form of commission. September 1989, the late M Amin Khan, Manager Oriental Insurance expressed his grievance for ignoring him in preference to Vijay Kumar. He accused me of discrimination. I pacified Khan Sahib with the insurance business of our residential complex that was the only property due for insurance. Total insured amount of the house was 12.5 lac.

Ahead of mass migration, I was at Jammu since 16th January 1990. One afternoon landline buzzed and it was Vijay Kumar on the other end to inform me about renewal of policies. I said: “I don’t have the little to fill the tank. Floor of all the vehicles have turned grassy. Please let me know the expiry date of all the buildings due for renewal”. I know not why despite repeated requests he preferred to maintain stony silence and made me suffer heavily.

August 1990, all got gutted. But for the property insured by Khan Sahib the rest became charcoal without any insurance cover.

The late B K Vaishnavi, the then Regional Manager based at Chandigarah assured any amount near to 11.5 lac as claim for the gutted property. He appointed MK Wali as the preliminary surveyor and cautioned him of our delicate relations. Some well wishers in the department hinted me for greasing palm of the men of consequence. I consulted B K Vaishnavi, though I was a total pauper. He emphatically warned me and forbade me to commit any such blunder. The preliminary surveyor assessed the loss at 6.62 lac against the expected and assured sum near 11.5 lac. The final surveyor too stuck to it. To my utter disgust one day Mr. Vaishnavi forgetting his earlier advice advised me to grease the palm of the surveyor M K Wali.

Professor Ali Bhat greeted me in person at Jammu on account of

Shivratri, but swore falsely against me by Prophet Mohammed the next day at Srinagar. Rafiq approached me in person with wet eyes and refreshed our relations as father and son that he continues to maintain without getting affected by the vagaries of time and space. One of my closest kin who often used to orbit around me like a human satellite accused me as a cheat for not sharing profit from purchase and sale of a piece of land.

Phases of the Moon; a geographical phenomenon are explicitly explicable, but phases of the human faces; a curse from the nature is beyond one’s comprehension.

What a self acclaimed claim to be the topmost species in the universe!

‘Wah ashruful makhluqat wah!’

‘Alla janay kiya hogha aghay’

‘Ajab teree kaeegaree hai yeh jinab’

‘Duniya vuchmai neko budh siptha vuchmus may guzradh tie may guzradh’

Matrimonial Query

1962 my life dream had come true when among others I got appointed in the office of the Accountant General as a UDC@ four times salary than the state government.

My elementary education was given second preference to participation in any marriage ceremony of a distant relation. Often my absence from the school was preferred to my attendance at such celebrations with the remark “Which ‘Accutandi’ is otherwise awaiting him? Let him go and enjoy.” Retired Elders  at the marriage celebration were all in praise of me as I used to put live charcoal on their ‘chilum’ and often change the stale water of the  hubble-bubble with fresh one.

Ours was a group of thirty-five. But for two the rest were Kashmiri Pundits. It was nothing short of the discovery of a readymade treasure for Bulji the professional matrimonial mediator. He visited all the prospective grooms including the ones who were already married. I was not an exception.

August 1963, I manipulated my exit from the ‘Accutandi’ despite DIR in view of the 1962 Chinese aggression (Defence of India rule). Under DIR, the excuse for an exit if proved false resulted in imprisonment of the accused. The hard decision to quit the job with highest social status declined my matrimonial prospectus under the projectile formula with its parabolic axis parallel to y-axis.

I joined the Mathematics Department at the J&K University at Naseem Bagh and completed my studies by the end of 1966 with an additional degree of teachers’ training. Simultaneously I was stealthily on the pay roll of the Planning Department.

Matrimonial offers started to trickle down again. My denial caused recurring worry to my father the only parent. Contrary to modest plenty I used to be in a three-piece suit with a matching necktie. It portrayed me deceitfully and I was conscious of it. The gulf between the standard of life between the aspirant offer and that of mine was too wide to be bridged. The other reason for denial was that some were seen in the company of some while in the university or elsewhere.

One evening Rajinder( later on IPS) met me at Habbakadal Bridge and said: “Dass why did you refuse to marry Miss X?”

I said: “Bloody fool, instead of forewarning me, you are asking me the reason for my refusal. Reliable sources forewarned me. I am told that she was fluting with you, enjoying shikara rides around Dal and Nigin Lakes besides, non-veg feasts in hotels and elsewhere.”

Rajinder said: “Be cool. You too had to enjoy shikara rides, feasts and…..and finally refuse the proposal.”

Aghast! I said: “I have done much nonsense in my life but never stooped low in my own eyes. I spit at your conscience.”

Unfortunately, though he retired from next to the highest post in the Police department, yet his matrimonial life was neither smooth nor a success.

Peace be to his dead conscience.

Telepathy!

June 1967. Barring me a chronic bachelor rest of the family members shifted to summer capital Srinagar from the winter capital Jammu. Abrupt loneliness turned tiring. For a change I went to my maternal uncle based at Naya Nangal. Change for one week refreshed me and tuned me to live a lonely life with a lookout for a pleasant company. On my return, I did not get a direct bus from Nangal to Pathankot. At Pathankot some personal assignment assigned by professor O N Labru was to be accomplished.

I hopped from Nangal to Hoshiarpur - Hoshiarpur to Dasua-Dasua to Pathankot and Pathankot to Jammu.

Quote from page number 104 ‘My Days’ autobiography R K Narayan:

“Sighing over a pretty face and form seen on a balcony, or from across the street, or in a crowd, longing for love-in a social condition in which, at least in those days, boys and girls were segregated and one never spoke to anyone but a sister-I had to pass through a phase of impossible love sickness.”

Unquote; Sighing over the two pretty faces in the queue at Hoshiarpur Bus stand for bus ticket, I pitied my person for traveling such a hopping tiresome journey all alone without a suitable companion. I wished how nice it would be if one of the two would give me a pleasant company!

With little hope, I sighed and occupied the central seat of the three-seater in the third row behind the driver seat.  Presently the bus acquired the desired speed and refreshed the passengers with the gush of air in the hostile sun. One of the two sighted in the queue contrary to my wishful thinking occupied the seat just in front of me.  I reconciled and buried deep my wish within and in reverie recalled the proverb ‘if wishes were horses beggars would ride’.

Thanks to telepathy! She turned her head and said to me: “……” Her loose dry hair tucked my face. Before I could make out anything of what she conveyed to me, the conductor of the bus offered his help to her. She paid him in exchange of a ticket and the scene left behind only a streak of the scent of the hair oil she had used.  Presently I went back to my reverie.

The bus terminated at Dasua. All but we two dispersed in different directions for their destinations. I broke silence and said: “Sorry I could not get you when you said something to me in the bus.” She said: “I wanted you to pass on my bus fare to the bus conductor in exchange of a ticket that I had failed to fetch at the bus stand.” In the meantime we occupied a seat around a tree meant for travelers. Self introduction and soon we became more than familiar to each other. She was from Talwara on way to Mukerian. Knowing that I was from Kashmir, she wanted to know something about Kashmir from me a Kashmiri. I added much more to the essay on ‘Beauties of Kashmir’ that I had learnt by heart when I was at the school. To the best of my capacity I portrayed Umri Khayam in words, at times under a cherry tree and at times in a spring shikara. My narration worked. She said: “I would like to tell you something, but I doubt your consent.”  A little ponder. I presumed may be she may ask for some money. I was attired in a three-piece English cut suit with a matching necktie and a snow-white handkerchief tri folded in the uppermost pocket quite contrary to my ready cash of rupees fourteen in my possession. (The total tip-top dress was not for more than two hundred rupees.)

I said: “I can’t promise blindly. Let you reveal yourself.”

She said: “Take me along with. A visit to Kashmir is my burning desire.”

I was taken aback. Momentarily I lost my hold on to the ground. I said: “I live as a paying guest at Jammu with one known family. Besides, I have posted a postcard in the name of my friend, a probationary Police Officer who may have come from Kathua to see me at Jammu. Your proposal is impracticable.”

She said: “I knew before hand your response. Let you give a second thought to my request.”

Second thought was quite contrary to the initial one. I retorted to myself: “You desired. God granted your desire and now you are backing out. Go ahead. God will set the stage Himself. Desire granted must be seized.”

I consented and tutored her that she shall have to pretend as a candidate for an Entrance Examination at Jammu for Medical College, and her father a friend of my uncle asked me to accompany you and facilitate your stay. Soon a Chandigarh-Jammu bound bus stopped to alight some of the passengers. Both of us boarded the bus for Pathankot.  Almighty came to my rescue once again. Thanks to the delinquency of the conductor who failed to collect the bus fare from me. In the bus we posed as a rightful couple to escape any self-styled social activist. Even Trilok Sharma SSP CRPF, the co passenger from Pathankot to Jammu got bullied.

5 PM we alighted from the bus at Shalimar Road near the then entrance of the SMHS Hospital Jammu. I knocked at the door of a room nearby. To my dismay a stranger came out. He said that my friend D V Gupta had shifted to a house at Afghan Gali. I took to

Rajinder Bazar Road to deliver fried fish at Standard Hotel Residency Road Jammu as a gift to my friend’s father.

Coincidence as it was, we had a chance meeting with the Probationary Police Officer, G Khan and IK  at the City Chowk.

The tutored parroted statement regarding the Entrance Examination was digested by all but the probationary Police officer.

Two nights she shared the bed of Mrs. A N Gupta, my hostess.

The third day in response to the hard persuasion by the Probationary Police Officer I bade her good bye with a promise to get her back.

Nothing is good or bad, but thinking makes it so. Mostly such events are buried within. R K Narayan encouraged me to reveal otherwise I would not be an exception to many.

The whole episode was matching her name ‘Sopna’.

She was depressed due to the rude behaviour of her father who as per her statement used to beat her mother mercilessly under the influence of liquor. She was on sojourn to Mukerian to play ostrich to the apathy at home in the company of one of her friends.